Sleight of Hand by Kate Wilhelm Page B

date?"
    "I'm afraid that won't do," she said. "As the defense attorney in this matter I cannot be denied permission to inspect the crime scene, and I want to do so before anything is changed. As you know, I can get a court order to accomplish this, however I much prefer not to have to go that route."
    When he spoke again his tone was so icy she could almost feel the chill on her receiver. "The inventory should be completed by tomorrow. I shall speak to Eric Wilkins about this. He can accompany you. He knows that nothing is to be removed or even handled. I trust you will honor that condition, as well."
    Send the enemy to keep me under surveillance, she thought. "Fine," she said. "I'll give him a call tomorrow to arrange a time."
    After hanging up, she muttered, "Stiff-necked bastard, don't talk to me about convenience when my client's life is at stake."

Chapter 15
    Tuesday evening Eric Wilkins stood by his mother at the kitchen sliding door and watched Eve in the garden. "She's okay now?" he asked.
    Stephanie nodded. Eve, dressed in shorts and an old T-shirt, was on her knees attacking weeds with fierce concentration. "The same as ever. Earlier she scolded Reggie for letting the snails get out of hand. Tomorrow they'll go to the garden center and get bait of some sort."
    Eve treated each plant as an individually prized treasure, noticed if a brown spot occurred on a leaf, or if a hole appeared. She tried to track down each offending critter to dispatch it, or used a soap spray, or put down bait. Nothing toxic was allowed, no weeds.
    He turned away and said, "Mother, let's talk a minute before I go out and say hi."
    She nodded toward the table where she had been looking at the drawings Eve had made since she had come home. It was always like that. She returned wan and listless, the only energy she had was when she used her pastel sticks and drew. The pictures were always the same, colors without edges, a semicircle of a wall of color, with streaks of fire-red throughout. Centered in the foreground was a single object, disproportionately small, colorless. Sometimes it looked like a rock, sometimes a human figure without any real definition. The pictures had movement of their own, the wall was advancing, threatening...
    Stephanie moved the half-dozen new pictures aside. "You look harried," she said, regarding her son.
    "Meetings with lawyers. Connie's and his. Berman gave me a key to the padlock on the house, with strict orders not to take anything out. There's an inventory, he said, as if he's afraid I'll go in with a gunnysack and raid the place. Appraisers will come in next week. He told me that the defense lawyer for the guy charged with the murder wants to have a look, and it's my duty to accommodate her. It would not be convenient for him to do it."
    "You don't have to do it," she said quickly. "It isn't your duty."
    "It's not a problem," he said. "I'm taking all my days off now, vacation time, sick leave, all of it. I can't work anyway while so much is going on. Berman's arranging for a memorial service. He said the community expects it. He wants me to be there."
    He smiled his crooked little smile and turned to gaze at his sister. "I'll wear jeans and a T-shirt, if I go at all. And it seems the heir to Dad's estate is named Sylvester Wilkins."
    "He's Jay's third cousin or something like that," Stephanie said absently.
    Eric looked at her with an ironic grin. "Isn't he going to be surprised when he finds out he's inherited a million or more! At least it won't go to a dog or cat hospital."
    Stephanie bit her lip. Eric turned back to gaze at his sister and she asked, "What was on the mind of Connie's lawyer?"
    "He said Connie's sister is coming to claim the body and take her home, and while she's here she should go to the house and put aside whatever personal effects she wants. That was in Connie's will, that she's to have first pick of things like that, jewelry, clothes, photographs, whatever. He asked me if I would go with